


Of Flocks, Scars, and Tattoos

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [72]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Body Image, Body Modification, F/M, Family Fluff, Old scars, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.One word prompts. Prompt #5: Needle.Years have passed. Zevran and Sevarra settled in Antiva after she was cured of the taint and started a family of their own. She spies a new bit of "artwork" Zevran's had done and it makes her think about things.





	Of Flocks, Scars, and Tattoos

“Amor, what’s that?” she asked after he lifted the tunic over his head.

“What is what, my lovely bruja?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“This,” she caressed his left shoulder blade. “It’s new, isn’t it? Last week, I could’ve sworn there were only three feather drawings here.”

Zevran winced ever so slightly, the new tattoo in question was as yet still healing; even her light touch was enough to make recently altered skin protest.

“A tattoo, naturally. Why do you ask?”

Sevarra pulled her hand away from his shoulder blade, having noticed the slight squint of pain in his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo, Zev. But why did you get another one? Did you kill another Talon and not invite me along for it?” She folded her arms and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout.

He chuckled. “Alas, no, I’ve not yet sent another Talon to meet the Maker, my sweet. The new one is for a… happier reason.”

“Oh?” she asked, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve not told me the meaning of most of your tattoos, those three… well, four now, feathers among them.” She claimed an edge of the bed near him.

He pondered for a few heartbeats in silence. Most of his tattoos had meanings that were specific to the Antivan Crows; even after years of being a free man, he still did not feel comfortable sharing what those meanings were to one who was not also a Crow. No need to burden his poor wife with yet more heartache on his behalf. But those three feathers? Those had never held any meaning in the Crows; they were far more personal in nature. At the heart of it, those feathers had meant family to him.

Family. The word’s meaning had changed for him over the years. At first, it was a triad: himself and the two nearest and dearest to him. Taliesen, who he’d grown up with, survived “apprenticeship” in the Crows with. And Rinna, brave, beautiful Rinna with her eyes that’d shone with fearsome justice. In the end, neither of them had survived the events leading up to the Blight nor the Blight itself. For years, Zevran had tried to not think about the three feathers on his shoulder blade.

And then he’d met his lovely witch, the Grey Warden who eventually became his partner in life, the woman sitting next to him.

The word “family” had started to sting less the longer he’d been with her. Even after the walk through hell that was the quest to rid her of the taint that would’ve killed her, he thought of her when he heard that word. Over time, more faces were associated with that word. Alonzo. Marisol. And then little Matana, who’d turned a year old a few weeks ago.

“The flock has grown,” he smiled in explanation.

“What flock?” she asked, her lopsided smile holding the suggestion that she already knew.

“Is it not obvious?”

“I’d still like to hear it from the horse’s mouth, as the saying goes,” she grinned while leaning back, supporting herself with arms held out behind her. A forelock of steel hair tumbled between her eyes, a lone outlier to the rest of her midnight mane. She blew a puff of air to shoo it out of the way.

_Braska. Stubborn woman! _She always took delight in teasing the words out of him even when she usually knew what his actions were saying. It was her way.

“Our flock, naturally.”

Her expression grew soft. Comprehension flickered in her eyes. “But you had them when-- oh. Oh, Zev… darling.” She wrapped him in her arms, holding him tightly as if he were made of something delicate that needed protecting.

“Fate is a tricky whore, mi amora. Sometimes she takes everything. Other times, she gives something even better than what was taken.”

She buried her face in his shoulder for a few moments before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, Fate better realize that there are no take-back-sies in this case. I’m told I’m a particularly stubborn creature to deal with.”

The cackle flew out of his mouth of its own volition. “That’s one way to put it, querida.”

She gently caressed the skin around the new tattoo, careful to avoid actually touching any of the recently inked areas. “So… this one is for Matana?”

He nodded. “It is only fair. Her mamá and siblings each have one.”

The mage chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Since when have you been worried about fairness, amor?”

He placed a hand over his heart in mock-distress. “I happen to care a great deal about fairness, especially where my family is concerned! No child of mine will have a papá who plays favorites! No ser!”

The display earned him another chuckle. Her expression turned thoughtful after a time. “How do they do that, putting the art on your skin so it doesn’t wash off? I’m assuming it’s not magic.”

“Indeed not. It involves a needle, ink, and someone who hopefully knows what they are doing.”

“A needle? As in the thing I use to mend clothes and embroider?” she asked.

“Not as such, no. The sort that are used for tattooing are dipped in ink and then poked into the skin. They are much smaller than what you use,” he chuckled.

“The ink is _under_ your skin? That sounds… painful.”

He shrugged. “The pain does not last for long, a week at most. The art endures for many years, as you can see.”

She bit her lip, a question in her eyes that didn’t yet feel brave enough to come out into the open.

“You look as though you have something on your mind, amora.”

**

Mikkel looked at the canvas before him. Snowy white flesh with jagged angry red lines that crisscrossed it, spoiling it. They were no doubt years old but were still distressing to behold. What manner of beast could have done that? What had the owner of the scarred skin endured? She trembled ever so slightly. He suspected it was not from the sudden chill in the air.

“Are you certain, señora? It will be a painful process if you choose to go through with it. It might cause you to remember… unpleasant things.” It was not the first time someone so heavily scarred had come seeking his artistic talents. More than one man, most of them battle-hardened veterans, had to cut sessions short because of horrors that rose from the depths of memories. They always came back to have the work finished, of course.

Her back was to him, as it was the potential canvas. He did not need to see her expression to hear the steel in her voice. “I’ve survived things worse than scary memories.”

He had no doubt about the truth of her words. “A matching set, you say?”

She nodded.

He smiled. She wasn’t the first to seek out his services to reclaim a piece of themself. He left to fetch his tools and ink. Hours later, she departed with a shoulder blade bearing four delicate feathers inked beneath the skin, a matching set to the ones that sat on her man’s shoulder.


End file.
